Burned by Rick Bundschuh

unscrewing fins, loading board bags, and packing up their gear.
    Tagiilima trotted back and forth with surfboards, stacking them high on the rusty roof racks of the surf-camp van.
    Bethany strolled into the dining room to find it crowded with people from the village. Pastor Samuel was there and explained that the people in their village had never met a celebrity before —could they get her autograph to remember her by?
    Bethany was a little embarrassed — but she was touched. The Samoans were such a kind, gentle people, and she would miss them. She accepted the marker that was offered to her by a little girl and in her loose scrawl signed papers, napkins, magazines, T-shirts, and even kids’ arms with her name and a verse.
    Tagiilima tapped his watch, and Pastor Samuel said something to the crowd, which caused them to leave, waving as they went.
    Liam, Del, and Hank each gave the Hamiltons a heart-filled good-bye, and everyone exchanged addresses and emails.
    Bethany gave Liam her Bible. “I have others at home.”
    Soon the camp van was bouncing down the narrow road with each passenger staring out in silent reflection of their adventures over the last two weeks.
    At the airport, one last strange thing happened — Tagiilima cried.
    â€œI sorry, I sorry,” he said. “I drive surfers many times, but you are special. You make me feel like your family.” He misted up again.
    Tom, in particular, was deeply touched. As they parted, Tom shook his hand vigorously and gave him all the Samoan talas he had in his pocket as a tip. It was a generous tip.
    Bethany hugged him, and he hugged her back — a big bear of a hug that left her breathless . . . and a little misty-eyed herself.
    As the long flight to Hawaii got underway, Noah and Tim fiddled with the onboard movie selection. Tom and Cheri fell asleep in each other’s arms like a couple of high school sweethearts.
    Bethany dug deep into her backpack and got out a blank journal and a pencil.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Malia asked.
    Bethany looked up. “Schoolwork. My assignment is to write about this trip, and I thought I’d write down some stuff while it’s still fresh in my mind.”
    â€œHave a blast!” Malia said as she plugged her headset into the armrest and started searching through the selections.
    When she turned to look at Bethany, Malia saw that she had written two lines before she tilted her head back and fell asleep. The pencil rested on Bethany’s open journal.
    Malia took a little peek at what Bethany had penned.
    â€œI never imagined I would see God work so much good through people on a surf trip — and I’m pretty good at imagining stuff. Now that I think of it, God has a pretty awesome imagination himself. The best!”

nine
    â€œYou know what’s the worst thing about surfing in California?” Malia asked Bethany.
    In unison they shouted, “Wet suits!”
    â€œI can’t feel my feet,” Bethany laughed. “Are these my toes, or are they popsicles?”
    â€œI told you to wear booties.”
    Late fall found the girls sitting in the dark blue water of Crystal Pier in San Diego, California. The morning fog had burned off, and the sun was just starting to bathe the beach in warmth.
    â€œWe’ve got time for one more wave before we have to be back,” Bethany said, shivering a little as she silently prayed for the sun to hurry up.
    â€œFee-fi-fo-fum, I feel a set is about to come,” a voice came from somewhere behind them. They both turned to see Liam grinning at them.
    â€œDo you have a sixth sense about waves, Liam?” Malia asked, and Liam’s grin got wider.
    â€œNo, it’s just that this is my home break, and I have it kinda dialed. I can tell that something is coming. Don’t ask me how.”
    â€œUh, could it be your cousin Del up on the pier who’s waving his arms frantically and pointing to the horizon?”